Dust and Mirrors
by Another Winter
Summary: Mello and B were kindred spirits separated by time and circumstance, never destined to meet. Mello reflects on B's indirect influence upon his life. Rated for language. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello there, brave readers! Thank you for giving my story a chance. This is the first fanfic I've written in years and I'm certain there is a lot wrong with it, but I figured I would post it in the interest of improving my writing. Death Note has become a bit of an obsession with me lately, which is odd and refreshing cause I haven't had a fandom in a very long time. Funny how you can't choose your fandoms… One day you're watching some anime in an attempt to kill boredom, then BOOM! You wake up as a fangirl.

Anywho… This story is meant to elaborate on Mello's thoughts in regard to B. In _Another Note, _Mello refers to B as his "great and respected predecessor" and says that B's actions influenced him. That piqued my interest and so I decided to try and build a story around it.

I hope you enjoy, or at least walk away without feeling like you wasted your time.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Death Note_ or any of the characters used in this story.

_An interesting thing happens when one forms a bond with a person who has already passed: a person they know they can never meet. Masks come off, scripts are shredded, and one is truly honest with themselves. There is no point in acting because there is nothing to gain. There is nothing to prove…_

_Not to the other, unreachable person at least. The scrutiny of one's own soul that such a bond induces is another story altogether. There must be some excuse for why spare time is now spent in the company of dusty notes and eerie photographs. Rationality demands a reason, but in the end the only answer is irrationality itself. It is our wild, sentimental humanity pushing us towards some greater understanding. _

_When L first told me about the man called B, and planted the seeds that would grow into one part obsession and one part impossible friendship, I was no more than fourteen and the world was still sane._

The excitement bubbling in my gut made anything more than fidgeting difficult as I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair waiting for the arrival of the greatest man in the world. Even the pleasant chill hanging in the early January air did nothing to distract me.

What time was it? There was no clock in here. Why wouldn't they put a clock in here?

Just as I was starting to count back the milestone moments of my day for an estimate, the heavy door behind me creaked. I eagerly turned my head and saw Roger enter carrying what looked like a black suitcase. He gave a small, bent-armed wave with his free hand and circled around to the chair opposite me where he deposited the suitcase with a quiet thump.

Before I could demand the time or the status of L's whereabouts, another man entered the room, closing the door behind him. The first thought to cross my mind was that he looked like a ridiculous inverted turnip with his pale face and mass of black, leafy hair. The clothes he wore were plain and baggy and his feet were as bare as mine. Without looking at me, he made his way to the chair next to the suitcase where, instead of sitting, he tucked himself up into a compact, gargoyle-esque crouch.

"Thank you, Roger," he said in a calm voice, nodding to the older man. "You may leave us now."

I wondered why this man had made Roger carry his suitcase, but the piercing stare he turned at me chased the thought from my mind. He sat in silence for a moment watching me with those dark, unblinking eyes. Was it my imagination or did he seem nervous? No, not nervous… He just couldn't think of what to say.

"Mello, correct?" he asked finally, breaking the tense silence.

"Yes," I replied not taking my eyes off of him.

The room lapsed into another quiet state until the man awkwardly held out his hand to me.

"I'm L."

My whole body went numb with shock and, despite my best efforts, I could not control the exclamation that forced its way from my mouth.

"You're L?"

Immediately I regretted my words, knowing that I had shown a terrible amount of disrespect. If it were anyone else I wouldn't have cared, but this was L.

The man nodded, still holding out his hand.

"Don't worry, Mello," he said with a gentle smirk. "I pictured you as taller. It seems we were both operating under wrong assumptions."

I gawked at him stupidly for a few seconds before putting my hand in his. His handshake was light and fragile, as if he were afraid of breaking my wrist.

"Let's get down to business then, shall we? There's a lot I would like to tell you and we have only so much time."

I was hoping he would introduce himself a little more elaborately, or at least share a conversation with me, but it seemed he was intent on sharing nothing more than investigative memories.

He opened the black suitcase and pulled out a mess of papers, making a futile show of organizing them before speaking again.

"Ever heard of the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases?"

_To this day I do not know why L told me the stories of his past exploits. Back then I was satisfied to believe that it was because he liked me better than Near, but I'm beginning to think it was because he knew I would take them to heart. For all Near's intelligence, he lacked emotion. Every academic novel we read, regardless of content or mood, always got thrown under the wheels of his overly analytical mind. While the rest of the class wept for a tragic character, Near dissected the diction and word choice of the author. Perhaps L wanted to make sure his memories never suffered such a hollow fate._

"So, the murderer, this Beyond Birthday guy… He was from Wammy's?" I asked when L had finished his story.

"Yes," L replied, turning his eyes to the ground.

"How come I've never heard of him?"

L paused.

"Nobody really likes to talk about B… or that time in general. It was a dark era rife with irreversible mistakes."

The tone in L's voice made me shiver. He had been able to describe the details of Beyond Birthday's killings with a straight face and a composed voice, but now that he had to address the killer as a person, he faltered. I never even knew L was capable of faltering.

"I'm leaving this suitcase with you," L said with finality, making it clear that this subject was now off limits. "You can research what you want to know on your own. For now, we must move on."

There was something intriguing about L's reaction that only strengthened my desire to know more about B. When L began to tell his other stories, it took an unbelievable amount of restraint not to be completely distracted. Why weren't there notes about the other investigations in there? Why bother putting anything into a suitcase at all if he could clearly remember the details he needed? Had he intended to give the suitcase to me the whole time?

As soon as I got back to my room later that night I tore into the contents of the suitcase with hungry vigor. At first, my roommate, Matt, paid it no mind as he was safely buried in a video game, but soon enough minutes turned to hours, and even he could not ignore my choice of activity any longer.

"Are you still digging through your luggage library, Mello?"

"Yeah."

"You know it's past midnight, right?"

"You're still up too, what do you have to complain about?"

"Who said I was complaining? I'm just curious. You haven't moved in nearly an hour."

"Neither have you."

"Yeah, but I'm building the ultimate team to take down the dragon emperor," Matt said, getting to his feet and pulling his face into a silly, satisfied smile. "I have an excuse."

When I showed no acknowledgment of Matt's virtual accomplishment he walked over to my side of the room and leaned over my shoulder.

"What's got you so captivated, anyway?"

I handed a pair of photographs backwards in a quick, forceful motion that took him by surprise.

"Photographs?" he asked, pushing his goggles up into his hair to get a better look. "Who are these guys?"

"A and B. They lived here at Wammy's before we arrived."

"Alumni, huh? So, what, do they work for L or something now?"

"No."

Matt looked at me questioningly as he set the pictures back on the bed.

"That one's dead," I said, pointing to A. "And that one's in jail."

A little bit of the color drained from Matt's face.

"Pleasant," he said sarcastically. "And this is what you've been looking at for the past four hours?"

"Yeah. It's fascinating."

"No, it's weird, Mello. You're acting like one of those war history buffs who hangs pictures of dead generals in their kitchen."

"Look at B in this picture," I said, once again acting like I didn't hear him. "Look at his eyes."

Matt picked up the picture again and held it to his face, turning it at all different angles.

"They're…um… scary?"

"Exactly. What do they remind you of?"

I was hoping to use this question as a stepping stone to a discussion about the shinigami eyes, but Matt's response stopped the dialogue cold.

"Actually," Matt said with a tiny chuckle. "They kinda remind me of you when you're planning something."

_Up until that moment, the similarities I shared with B had been caught just below the surface of my perception. It was like a new bruise that had not yet gained its sickly color. In the weeks leading up to the distant killer's death, I would gain enough introspective knowledge to riddle myself with contusions. _

Author's Note: That's all for now! I hope things didn't seem too out of character or disjointed. I'm still trying to get my "sea legs", if you will. There's a lot of things that bugged me about this chapter, but I wasn't quite sure how to address them, so they were left as is. The next chapter should hopefully be up sometime soon if this is met with a good response. Please leave a review if you liked the story or have any suggestions on how to make it better. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but please do not flame me. I'm way too easily burnt…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Many thanks to anyone who read chapter one, especially Riley Crest whose review gave me the courage to post chapter two! I will warn my readers that this chapter is a little filler-y, with less mention of B. I basically wanted to show an event from the weeks mentioned at the end of chapter one that would prompt Mello to further examine himself in relation to his predecessor. That event is a nothing fight. Another warning I must send out: language. This chapter contains some pretty strong language. I'm hoping that my T rating will cover it, but if anyone is offended I will gladly up the rating. With that said, please sit back and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note**_** or any of the characters used in this story. **

_Why do people do things? It's a pretty straightforward question with a labyrinthine answer. Most of the time people do not have the slightest idea of what drives them, even if they think they do. There are an unfortunate few, however, that do possess a perfect understanding of their motives. For them life becomes a matter of pushing down their perceived clarity and attempting to face trials like a rational human being. Rationality will always be below them, but a small scrap of it must be worn like a mask, because when given the choice between what makes sense and what has meaning, society will always side with sense. _

I flung open the door to the tiny study chamber and stomped inside, clutching my textbook in a white-knuckle grip.

Matt sighed theatrically as I entered and rocked back on his chair.

"Well, look who decided to show up…"

"Piss off, Matt."

"Aww… Someone's cranky 'cause they didn't get enough sleep!" he laughed in a mock taunt. "How late were you up, anyway? When I passed out, you were still going strong."

"I dunno, three-thirty, four?"

"That's nuts, man."

"What do you mean? I've seen you pull all-nighters more times than I can count."

"Yeah, but I can pull it off. Sleep deprivation is like a state of being for me. You… Not so much. You go anywhere beneath eight hours and they may as well start sounding the air raid sirens."

"Whatever," I growled, throwing my textbook onto the table and looking around the room. "Bleach Face isn't here yet?"

"You mean Near? No, he hasn't arrived."

"Figured as much."

I plopped myself into a chair on the opposite side of the table and began to tap my pencil rapidly against its hard surface, making the room sound like it was swarmed with tachycardiac hummingbirds.

"Why the hell would they put Near and I in a group together, anyway?" I asked angrily. "It's probably just to piss me off."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it. It has nothing to do with our ranks. The world is just out to piss Mello off. They're holding meetings at the UN right now discussing the best ways to annoy you."

The door drifted open at just that moment, revealing Near's tiny, washed-out form. He stood in the doorway looking at the two of us with wide, unfeeling eyes.

Matt waved his arm enthusiastically at him.

"Hey Near! Glad you made it! We were just about to start looking at chapter two."

The white-haired boy's only response was a slight nod in Matt's direction.

Matt began to pull out the chair next to him for Near, but the boy opted instead to park himself on the floor by the head of the table, tucking his one leg up in that usual way of his. I instantly began to seethe.

"Wouldn't you rather sit here?" Matt asked kindly, tapping a finger on the chair back. "It's hard to see you down there."

"No thank you," Near said, flipping open his textbook disinterestedly. "I find this to be a more favorable location."

"Well… okay. I guess if--"

"Sit at the damn table," I snarled, cutting Matt off and turning my gaze to meet Near's. His eyes stared back at me, but not in any kind of confrontational way. They just stared, like the eyes of a reptile.

"No thank you," he repeated. "This spot is fine."

"I'm not asking if it's suitable. I'm telling you to sit at the table like a normal person. We're not going to spend this whole time struggling to look at you from over the table edge."

"You may join me on the floor then. There is plenty of room."

At this point, Matt was looking from me to Near with an expression somewhere between panic and fascination. Like someone watching two speeding cars barreling toward each other, sure that there would be a crash, yet unwilling to turn away and miss the spectacle.

"I'm not sitting on the floor."

"And I would prefer not to sit at the table."

"Guys, it's not a big deal. What does it matter where we sit, as long as we get this project done?"

"Why don't you decide then, Matt?" I snapped.

Suddenly the crash was going to be a three car pile up and Matt was not happy about it. He abhorred responsibility with a passion.

"Yes," Near said. "A neutral third party seems like a proper solution."

"This is stupid. It's a non-issue! We can all just stay where we are."

"No. We can't," I said inarguably.

"Fine!" Matt exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "We'll sit on the floor then."

"What?!" I practically shrieked, my voice cracking with the sheer outrage of it all.

"You asked for my input and I gave it," Matt said, looking a little upset as he got up out of his chair to join Near on the floor.

"You were supposed to side with me, dumbshit! What possible reason could you have for sitting on the floor?"

"The decision has been made, Mello," Near stated with what sounded almost like condescension. "Please sit so we can begin."

I would not give that cold-hearted robot the satisfaction… if he could even feel satisfaction. I got out of my chair and stood defiantly behind Matt, who was now bunched up in an indian-style posture. With great force I slammed my textbook to the ground between them.

"Let's start then," I said caustically.

"Mello… What are you doing?" Matt asked with apparent annoyance.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Why are you standing?"

"It's a _more favorable_ position."

Matt slapped his hands down onto his knees and started to get up.

"Well, I'm done!" he announced. "I am D-O-N-E with this. Come find me when you stop acting like a six-year-old."

With that, he grabbed his textbook and exited the room.

Near still sat on the ground at my feet, twirling his hair around his index finger and looking completely unphased.

"I take it we will be postponing our session to another time?"

"Fuck you."

I stormed out through the same door as Matt and began the painful trek back to our room.

_Matt's tiny betrayal was not my first lesson in losing to Near, but it was the first time I realized that what we had went deeper than a rivalry between two people. It was an age-old rivalry between two concepts. If I could understand Matt's motives as well as I understand my own, I might say that he had acted simply out of a desire to get responsibility off his shoulders as quickly as possible. In the absence of such understanding, I must only assume that even silly, sarcastic Matt would choose cold reason over a warm friendship forged from our very own tears and victories. I had meaning, but Near made sense. When I thought back on things that night, it became very apparent that B had been a part of the same conceptual battle. B had always been firmly seated on the side of the abstract, while L loomed above him, balanced on a firm tower of concrete. B had striven to topple that tower, not only, I believe, to say 'I won', but to show the world that passion had as much value as logic. That he, his emotions, and his thoughts, meant just as much as L's, if not more. His quest had been noble, and it was one that I would continue. Beating Near was now more than bragging rights. It was a crusade to open everyone's eyes to the value of feeling, the value of myself._

**Author's Note: And so ends chapter two. I hope Mello wasn't too foul-mouthed for his own good. Just like chapter one, I may rewrite this at some point to address a couple issues that bug me, but for now I push on towards chapter three. The update time may be a little longer because that is the chapter where Mello learns of B's death and I want to be careful with it. Thank you once again for reading! Please leave a review if you feel so inclined.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Wow! Thank you to everyone who is reading! Your comments and support are very much appreciated. I managed to bust out chapter three a little faster than expected. I'm not sure if that's good or bad… This chapter did not turn out exactly the way I planned, but I kinda like it. The only thing that worries me is how my focus is starting to drift a bit. Maybe I'm being overly critical, but the interactions between Matt and Mello are kinda stealing the limelight. I'm hoping that will fix itself in the coming chapters. Anywho, thank you for stopping by and please enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note**_** or any of the characters used in this story. I also do not own Cheerios, though there might be a box of them downstairs.**

_We all make the mistake of getting entrenched in our own worlds from time to time. After all, empathy is difficult. Many people go their whole lives without ever feeling its bittersweet embrace. To try to imagine someone else's circumstances in any kind of meaningful way takes work. Most of the time, that is. There are those rare instances when understanding just swallows you whole. That is when you learn that empathy is not always the poignant avenue to wisdom it is made out to be. It is a dark, frightening thing that binds you to sorrow and terrors you've never even felt. It ravages your soul before spitting you out raw and bloody on the other side. _

_The wounds inflicted by empathy always leave scars, but with those scars comes a certain pride. It is evidence that you have some kind of worthwhile connection with another person. Those who can feel empathy are never truly alone. For better or for worse._

As I lifted the fork to my mouth, I felt a light projectile hit my forehead. Seconds later a lone cheerio fell onto the tray before me. I looked at the cheerio in confusion for a moment before glancing up at Matt, who sat opposite me at the table. Our squabble from two weeks ago had blown over relatively easily, partially out of necessity in finishing the academic project, and partially because I could never stay mad at Matt for long.

At the moment his face was obscured by a plastic spoon straining under the pressure inflicted by his fingers. He released his grip on the end of the spoon and another cheerio catapulted across the table and into my hair.

"Aw, missed the bullseye," he giggled to himself, loading up another crunchy cannonball.

I shot him one of my signature death glares before remembering Matt was the only person they didn't work on.

"You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know that?" I muttered, turning my attention back to the waffles before me.

"Ah come on, what would you do without me?" he grinned.

"I'd eat my breakfast in peace."

"Yeah, but then what?"

I shoveled a mouthful of waffle into my mouth to avoid answering.

"So," he began, changing the subject. "What was that envelope about this morning?"

I raised my head and swallowed my waffle a little too quickly.

"Envelope?"

"Yeah, looks like they slipped it under the door. It was on the floor when I left to come here. You really didn't notice it?"

"No, I was kinda in a hurry."

"Ah, well, you should check it out after breakfast. It might be something important. Isn't that how they told you L wanted to see you?"

When I made it back to the room I found a plain white envelope on the floor as Matt had said. It was small and had my name written in Roger's sickeningly perfect handwriting. I opened it and read its contents.

**Mello,**

**Please see me in my office. L has requested to speak with you.**

"It's about L again," I said, looking over my shoulder to address Matt, who was busy stuffing games into his bag for classtime.

"Cool, maybe he has more stories for you to morbidly obsess over."

"Maybe…"

"Tell me about it when I get back from class, okay? I assume you're heading there now?"

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

Matt left the room with his bag slung over his shoulder and I stood staring at the note for a few seconds before starting my journey to Roger's office.

I hesitantly knocked on the large, wooden doors and heard Roger's voice grant me admittance from within.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, closing the doors behind me.

"Yes," he said, looking at me over his desk. "L wanted to speak to you about something regarding your meeting a few weeks ago. I'll contact him to let him know you're here."

Roger opened a laptop and quickly typed something. A few minutes later, L's scrambled voice flowed from the computer's speakers.

"Mello?" the synthetic voice began.

"Yes. I'm here," I replied.

"Good. Roger, I must request privacy once again."

"Of course," the older man answered, politely taking his leave.

I stepped around to the other side of the desk to look at the laptop head on.

"Thank you for coming," L said. "My message is brief, but one that I felt you should receive."

I stared directly into the webcam and nodded.

"B is dead. I just found out last night. He suffered a heart attack and they were unable to revive him."

The muscles in my face twitched as my brain tried to process what L had just said.

"I have my suspicions that there may be more to it than simple physiological malfunction, but that is not something I want you to concern yourself with. For now, I just wanted you to know that the story is over."

I nodded again, unsure of how to respond.

_If I could go back in time and revisit that moment I would surely press L for more information. I would ask him why, even through the voice scrambler, I could almost sense relief. Why he had referred to the event as the end of a story rather than the end of a life. Did this mean anything more to him than the elimination of skeletons in his closet? It must have, right?_

I spent some time wandering the halls after speaking with L, not wanting to go to class, and unwilling to return to my room before Matt would be there. My mind was pretty much blank, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the emotion came.

I put my hand over my heart, wondering what it must have felt like…

Had he been scared?

I shivered as I imagined the boy in the picture laying under a sheet somewhere, his brilliant, devious eyes now dull and empty.

After enough time had passed, I went back to my room where I found Matt sprawled belly-down across his bed. His hands were occupied by a gameboy which spewed extremely loud electronic music. It sounded like some kind of victory fanfare.

He turned his head when I entered and shifted the gameboy to one hand, motioning to me with the other.

"Mello! Come here, quick! I just beat the game! I've been chiseling away at this one forever, and even though it took me all class period, I finally got it! Check out the credits!"

I looked at him and winced before flopping face first into my own pillow. I could still hear the overly happy music bleeping away.

"If you don't shut that thing off, I'm throwing it out the window," I grumbled, picking my head up for a moment so as not to be muffled by the pillow.

Matt knew the difference between my hollow, good natured threats and my serious ones, and muted the game immediately.

"Hey, is everything alright?" he asked sincerely. "Not good news from L?"

"No, not good news, Matt," I spat sharply. "Not everything is like your stupid games."

"I… never said it was… What's going on?"

"B is dead."

"That's what L called you in to tell you?"

"Yeah, you figure that one out all by yourself?"

"Calm down, man. I'm trying to help here."

I sat up and looked at Matt, who was now also in a sitting position with his hands free of the gaming device.

"L said he died of a heart attack."

"I'm really sorry, Mello…"

"Oh, spare me. We've both been the recipients of enough funeral handshakes to know how useless those words are."

"I never thought they were useless…"

"Well, then I guess you're just stupider than you look."

"No. I was happy to know that people cared."

"If they cared so much, then why did you end up here?"

Matt turned a serious gaze in my direction.

"Stop trying to pick a fight, Mello. It's not going to make things any better."

I fell silent. Damn it, Matt.

"You don't even care about B," I said bitterly after a moment, desperate to keep the argument going.

"I'll be honest with you. I don't. But I care about you, and if losing the object of your weird, little obsession upsets you, then I'm sure as hell gonna be there to help."

I stared at him with eyes as wide as L's, and for an uncomfortably long span of time the room was silent.

"… Thanks…" I said finally, looking at my feet.

Matt smiled.

"Don't worry about it."

_While I mourned for a man I had never met, Matt mourned as well, willingly throwing himself into the claws of the beast. I know full well why I allowed myself to be tortured by the thoughts of B's final moments, but Matt… I will never know why he opted to bear my emotional pain on such a regular basis. Perhaps he wasn't as predictable as I presumed. Perhaps he was governed by more than conceptual decisions. Whatever it was, I was thankful to have him there. _

_Sometimes a peaceful breakfast is overrated._

**Author's Note: End of chapter three! In case anyone is wondering, the video game music I was imagining coming out of Matt's gameboy was the end credit music to the original **_**Kirby's Dreamland**_**… though for some reason I can't quite see Matt playing a Kirby game. Well, whatever he was playing… Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review if the urge strikes you. Chapter four soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Oi yoi yoi! Chapter four! This sucker was a challenge. I think it has pacing problems and some of the dialogue sounds hokey to me, but maybe other people will disagree *crosses fingers*. I have upped the story to an M rating for language. There's just been one too many f-bombs for me to feel safe under the T umbrella anymore. I would once again like to thank my readers for their generous attention and reviews. You have no idea how much they mean to me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note**_** or any of the characters used in this story. I also do not own Nintendo or Godzilla.**

_Making an impulsive decision is like walking a very large dog. At first you feel safe and in control, but soon enough the weight of your decision starts to put a strain on your arm. By time the consequences hit you, your shoulder is dislocated, your heart is broken, and the dog has torn through town, ripping everything you once cared about to shreds. You'd like to ignore it, you'd like to blame someone else, but no matter what you do, the other end of the leash is still in your hand._

_The insanity that the following months ushered in took a very trying toll on everyone in Wammy's House. I learned what L had meant about B's death being more than just 'physiological malfunction'. Kira became a household word._

_Children who months before cared about nothing greater than playing kickball and getting homework done suddenly found themselves plastered to political debates and grim news broadcasts. Even Near would occasionally slink out of his shadowy, puzzle-lined corners to stare at the rec room television. _

_Each time we pressed the power button, we hoped that we might see Kira being led away in handcuffs. We hoped that L's calligraphic logo would shine forth from the screen like a lighthouse in the midst of turbulent seas. _

_That day would never come. _

_The thing about lighthouses is that no matter how brightly they shine, there will be a day when their radiance goes dim. There will be a night when distressed ships look to the horizon only to find that the sky has grown even darker than it was before._

_The day I learned of L's death was a milestone in my life. It was the single, defining moment when my decisions began to hurt people. It was the joining of the leash to the dog's collar. It was also the beginning of independence. If you can call stumbling down the dark path already taken by a dead man independence…_

I forced open the doors of Roger's office and stomped out into the hallway. He might have been calling to me from the tragic room, but I could not hear him over the sound of my own rapid heartbeat. The colors and shapes of the corridor looked sharper and brighter than usual and I let out a feral scream before slamming my fist into the wall.

How dare he suggest that Near and I work together! Passion and Logic could never be one. That would be like mixing oil and water. It was just a diluted way of telling me that he had already made the decision to side with Near. It was a cheap, consolation prize. That bastard. He didn't even have the balls to tell me the truth.

Well, I was finished with him. I was finished with this place.

There was no chance for advancement here. Why had it taken me so long to realize the contest was perpetually rigged? B saw Wammy's for what it was. He came to the proper conclusion. Now I would too.

I continued to rampage down the hallway, screaming incomprehensible words and creating as much commotion as possible. I wanted people to know I was pissed. My departure would be remembered whether they liked it or not.

As I gusted my way past a darkened common room, one of Near's abandon dice cities caught my attention. I advanced on it like a blood-crazed shark, grabbing handfuls of white cubes and throwing them against the wall. When the plastic game pieces bounced back at me I threw them again. And again. And again.

I worked myself into such a frenzy that my limbs went numb and my mind fell empty of everything but fractured profanities and a kind of electric buzzing.

For a good ten minutes I threw those dice into the wall before a voice heard as if through a fishbowl shifted my attention.

"Tokyo's that way," Matt said coolly, standing at the threshold of the room. The light from the hallway silhouetted him in an almost eerie way that caused his goggles to shine.

My chest heaved and my throat burned as I stared dangerously at him.

"You know, like Godzilla?" he asked with a grin, stepping into the darkness. "Although I don't think Godzilla ever actually threw pieces of the buildings he destroyed against the wall. Didn't he just eat them?"

I didn't know how to react to this. Was he serious?

"Yeah, if you're not gonna eat those dice, you'd better put them down."

He took a step toward me.

"Get the fuck away from me, Matt."

Another step.

"I'm serious."

Now he was only a few feet away.

"I swear to God, I'll kick your ass!"

"Yes, yes. But my ass could use a good kicking. I'll take my chances."

He shot his hand out and grabbed my wrist. The grip was tight, but I could feel his hand trembling.

"Drop the dice, come on."

I struggled for a moment before scooping up a handful of dice with my other hand and throwing them in his face.

"Now you know why I chose to wear my goggles for this."

He began to pull me.

"Let's go."

"Leave me alone!"

"No way."

He forcibly dragged my flailing, screaming body from the room and down the hallway. We passed a small group of female students on the way, who looked on in horror and whispered amongst themselves.

By the time Matt deposited me on the floor of our room we were both out of breath. Me from screaming, and he from using all his strength to drag me.

I remained on the floor panting while Matt pulled off his goggles and wiped his forehead.

"What were you doing in there, you lunatic? That's the kind of thing that'll get you a Saturday detention."

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not going to be here Saturday, Matt."

For one of the first times since we met, Matt showed genuine surprise. His eyebrows rose and the corners of his mouth twitched painfully.

"W-what?"

"I'm not going to be here," I repeated forcefully. "I'm leaving."

He threw his head back in an exaggerated way and let out a hollow laugh. It was a haunting, soulless thing that had no resemblance at all to the quiet giggles that so often escaped him.

"Yeah, very funny, Mello. Like you would leave."

"I'm not joking. I've had it with this place. No one here appreciates what I'm capable of."

"So you're going to up and leave because you think no one understands you? Do you have any idea how stupid and childish that sounds?"

"I don't care."

"We all know about L, Mello. Is that what this is really about?"

I wondered how news had spread so fast, but pushed down my curiosity.

"You wanna know what it's about?" I began, raising my voice. "It's about false hope. All this time I believed I was part of some kind of meaningful fight, but you know what? There never really was a fight. It was all a charade."

I punctuated my statement with a scowl.

"Near can be the new L. I don't care anymore. I will make a life for myself outside these walls and become something greater."

_Echoes of a voice from years past._

"You're fourteen years old!" Matt yelled without any trace of humor or sarcasm. "What the hell do you think you're gonna do?"

He watched in silence as I rolled over and pulled L's black suitcase from under my bed.

"I'm going to L.A."

"L.A.?!"

His voice had now elevated to an uncharacteristic, off-kilter scream.

"Mello, get your head out of your ass and think about things for once in your life! You can't drive. You have no passport, no money. If--"

"Don't you fucking lecture me, Matt."

"I'll lecture you as much as I want! You could get killed. Do you know that? Or did that little detail escape that cherry bomb you have for a brain?"

"I won't die."

"What? You think if you're wearing a rosary murderers will cower away like vampires from garlic? Or maybe you think you'll be able to charm your way out of a knife to the gut? I've got news for you, Mello. You're an annoying son of a bitch. They'd stab you just so they didn't have to hear you."

Low blow, Matt.

"Is that what happened to your mother?" I hissed. "Did she talk too much and get what was coming to her?"

I sat up and got ready for the fight to come.

But Matt never made his move. Instead he walked over to his desk and pulled open a drawer.

He removed a weathered envelope and threw it at me.

"One thousand dollars," he said. "What's left of my mother's inheritance."

A sharp pang of guilt shot through me.

"H-uh?"

"I don't want to remember you like this, Mello. I don't want my last recollection of time with you to be wasted on bitter, painful insults."

He paused.

"It's apparent that I'm not going to be able stop you… you're too much of an asshole for that. The best I can hope for is to make this a good memory."

I blinked at him, unable to look him in the eye, and saw the muscles in his throat tighten as he obviously tried to hold back tears.

"…Whatever happens… wherever you wind up… just know that you do have a friend out there, okay? You always have and you always will."

I looked on as he started to hook an old Nintendo up to his tiny television. He blew a burst of air into one of the cartridges before plugging in two controllers and stretching his face into a sad smile.

"How about one last round before you go? For old time's sake."

_Later that night, as I snuck my way through Wammy's halls with my black suitcase and a duffle bag filled with worldly possessions, the unmistakable sound of sobbing drifted from my former room. No, I told myself, it wasn't my… our… room. The kid in 104 was just having nightmares again. Someone would be in to comfort him soon._

_By the time I reached the bus stop, the November air had reddened my cheeks and tousled my hair, but there was nothing I could do to warm up. _

_From now on it was just me and the shadows of another man's life that I held in my suitcase._

_Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. _

**Author's Note: Aww… Poor Matt needs hugs. I was just about to make a pun about those hug candies with the milk chocolate and the white chocolate, but I just realized: Mello has not eaten a single bite of chocolate in this whole story! How could I be so foolish? I'll have to fix that in the coming chapters. Speaking of which, we're all gonna be suffering a little Matt withdrawal for a bit. Don't worry though, he'll be back. Thank you all very much for reading and, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated if you have the time.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I'm gonna say it right now. I'm not very fond of this chapter. I never realized how much I was relying on dialogue until I set out to write an essentially dialogue-less installment! I guess it's good that I pinpointed one of my weaknesses, but still… Bleh. Anyway, try to enjoy this short, weak link of the chain as much as you can and thank you for reading.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note **_**or any of the characters used in this story.**

_Every once in a while it feels good to be just another face in the crowd. When you merge into a mass of humanity and become a nameless speck, you have the benefit of anonymity. No one knows your story, and no one cares to know it. They don't care that you abandoned your only true friend. They don't care that you stole the contents of someone else's wallet to make it past customs. You're just another body. It's almost as if you don't really exist._

_It just goes to show that to dwell only on what you can touch is to miss the whole picture. _

I shifted awkwardly in the rigid airplane seat, gripping my black suitcase tightly. The duffle bag had been deposited in the overhead compartment. I didn't care if I lost that.

To one side of me sat a middle-aged man, who flipped unenthusiastically through a news magazine with Kira's name on the cover, to the other sat a young child, who looked up from his gameboy only to answer his mother, who was seated across the aisle.

I tried to steal an inconspicuous glance at the boy's screen before wriggling again and closing my eyes.

Hours later I was awakened by a kind-eyed flight attendant who told me that we had landed and asked to collect my tissue-paper airplane pillow. I blearily handed her the pillow, grabbed my bags, and made my way off the plane.

The first thing I did once I got into the airport was purchase a stale, prepackaged muffin from a kiosk in the terminal. I parked myself at a two-person table and stuffed pieces of the breakfast pastry into my mouth, choosing to shred it, rather than bite it directly. It was sad and frustrating that no matter how full the table grew with crumbs, the chair across from me remained empty.

The unending chaos of the airport quickly began to wear on me. Everywhere people chattered, announcements blasted from speakers, and misshapen go-carts raced through teeming crowds, eager to deliver their cargo of luggage and humans. It was time to get out of there.

I ducked into a public restroom where I hid myself in a stall and opened my suitcase. The document I needed was right on top where I had left it. Folding the paper into a tiny square, I stuffed it in my pocket and flushed the empty toilet.

Not too long after that, I found myself stepping off a bus in L.A.'s western suburbs. I pulled the paper from my pocket and looked at the street signs. Thank God for streets named after numbers…

After wandering along the sidewalk for some time, I heard the shrill howl of sirens rend the air. Ahead of me I could see police cars and ambulances racing to the center of an intersection where two cars had slammed into each other. The cause of the accident was obvious. Both traffic lights shone green.

_It might have done those drivers some good to think for themselves rather than blindly submit to a blinking light._

I quickened my pace to avoid the grisly scene and walked for about ten more minutes before reaching my destination.

The multi-floored storehouse stood indifferently before me, daring me to enter. It seemed to have fallen into a state of considerable disrepair and probably sparked many debates at neighborhood council meetings. My feet froze to the ground. Now that I had finally made it to the target of my pilgrimage, I was afraid to go in.

This had been B's final residence. The place where everything had been planned.

I chased away a shiver and swallowed before gently pushing against the door. It groaned like a bitter, old cat and granted me entry.

The interior of the bottom floor was illuminated by only what meager daylight strained its way through the dusty windows, and pieces of old machinery littered the floor, hiding under torn sheets. As I crept past, my footsteps echoed off the empty walls and bounced back to my ears as loud as gunshots. There was nothing of interest here. I would have to climb the stairs.

I felt like a character in one of Matt's games, pressing my way higher and higher up a fantastic tower, hoping to find the final boss. There was no stirring soundtrack for my ascension though, and I had already blown past all the save points.

As I cleared the final stair, the image of a makeshift bedroom took shape before my eyes. A simple bed with white sheets, an end table adorned with an office lamp, and a chest of drawers. The chest of drawers had an old mirror on top which reflected no light due to the layers of dust it had accumulated over the years. I stepped into the room like one would step into a mausoleum.

I don't know what I had been expecting exactly, but it certainly was not _this_.

This was no monument to authenticity. It was no comforting library filled with answers. It was an empty room.

I had traveled all this way for an empty room.

Tears of bitterness began to well in my eyes.

"Is this it?" I screamed out loud. "Is this_ fucking_ it!?"

I kicked over the end table, sending the lamp clattering to the ground, and began to let out tears I had been suppressing for months.

_Someone's possessions can say a lot about them, and a picture is worth a thousand words, but no one's life can be summed up by mere objects. To place the soul of another person in a box, or more appropriately, a suitcase, is to do them a terrible injustice. You have essentially damned them to existing as nothing more than what can be put on the curb on trash day. The content of one's soul and mind is intangible, unfathomable, immaterial. For me to think that I could gain full understanding of B and myself by visiting what was essentially just another, larger suitcase was absurd. The answers laid in what was not there, in what could not be touched. Just as they had so long ago._

**Author's Note: I promise the next chapter will be better. Please believe me! Unfortunately I must add insult to injury by adding that my next update may take a little longer than usual because of some upcoming social obligations. I'm sorry… **


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone for not only their desire to keep reading and their encouraging reviews, but for their patience in waiting until today for this update. I was at a banquet-y thing last night where I ate awesome mushroom gravy, a slice of tiny, elegant cake, and coffee so strong that it practically melted my spoon. Our next installment was supposed to be focused on the mafia, but in true Mello fashion, I decided to follow my own emotions instead. Not a very disciplined writing decision, but what can I say? Get ready for a big, ol' time jump.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note**_** or any of the characters used in this story.**

_People like to divide the world into black and white, good and evil, light and dark, but the truth is things very rarely split themselves so easily. Only in old paintings are light and shadows defined. For instance, one might call someone who helps a lost child an angel, but what if that someone is a notorious criminal? What if they hand the child a gun? Suddenly their halo transforms from pure light into barbed wire. Such sharp, grey angels are the very beings to which I owe my life._

_The crushing disappointment of B's storehouse apartment left me broken in a way that is impossible to describe. I spent that night there, sleeping in the bed of my fallen predecessor. My funds, Matt's funds, were drained. I had nowhere else to go._

_The next morning a group of cars pulled up to the building and I learned of the new purpose it had since gained, and the unwholesome stock its basement held._

_They thought I was trying to steal drugs. They cornered me._

_Matt's cautionary words rang through my head and I was certain they were the last thoughts I would ever think._

_Then an angel of deepest grey flew to my rescue in a storm of bullets and blood._

_A rival gang. No, they were far too organized to be a gang. They had to be mafia._

_I don't know why they pitied me, but I was in no position to refuse kindness. Even the kind that smelled of vodka and gunpowder. _

_I had no problem proving myself to them, and it was not long before my mind was devoted to unlawful strategies and my hand felt empty without a .45. _

_In the midst of it all, I learned what it was to kill. I can remember doubling over and vomiting the first time one of my bullets tore through a man's chest, sickened by what I had done. One of my associates had handed me a chocolate bar to wash the taste from my mouth. He told me to suck it up, that it would get easier._

_It never did. The bitter flavor of death and guilt hung almost perpetually on my tongue, prompting me to seek relief on a constant basis… _

_We involved ourselves in all manner of criminal schemes in those years before Kira once again became a focus. The most meaningful of which was some kind of insurance fraud at a local hospital. I call it meaningful because it was thanks to that plot that I got to see the hospital's personnel files. I got to see the grainy picture of a red-headed man who serviced their computer systems. I got to record his phone number, telling myself that one day I would work up the courage to dial it._

_That day would come, but it would not be the mere conversation I expected. It would be a desperate plea for my life._

The detonator felt like it was being held in someone else's hand, like the plastic held only half the weight it should have.

The Japanese police had left me with only one option.

I said a quick prayer and hoped that if this failed, my meager repentance would be enough to get me to Heaven.

This was it, B. Somehow we both knew it was better to face the flames than to take things on any less than our own terms.

**Click.**

The noise was extraordinary. Who knew utter destruction could be so loud?

And then there was the fire.

I screamed until my throat ached with more than smoke, and then I screamed some more. I rolled and flailed and begged the pain to stop. What the hell, B? There was no dignity in this!

I have no idea how long it was before the heat subsided, but eventually the demolished building stood still.

My thoughts came in interrupted snippets as I laid on the ground struggling for breath. Fragmented scraps of my life played before me like a black and white movie, each excruciating rise of my chest turning the reels of the projector. For a moment the screen froze on the image of Matt's smiling face.

I was not thinking clearly then, and I cannot remember if there was more to my decision to pull out my cell phone than a frantic will to survive. The number was still in there. Send.

"Y'ello?" came a voice at the other end.

I gasped the address of my once hideout into the receiver.

There was nothing but breathing, and then…

"On my way."

I slipped in and out of consciousness as I waited, hoping the phone call had actually happened. Echoing footsteps soon confirmed its reality.

Through tears of pain and smoke, I saw a red-haired man approach me. He was dressed in some kind of weird jacket and had goggles strapped over his forehead.

He froze when he caught sight of me, able to mutter only one thing.

"…Holy shit."

I blacked out again.

As I began to awaken from that blissful, numb feeling of oblivion, I heard sounds that I could not identify. They were fuzzy and otherworldly like they were being pumped from an electronic speaker. I forced open my eyelids and saw that I was right on the money.

Matt sat at the foot of my bed staring at a television mounted on the adjacent dresser. He wrung his hands nervously as smoke drifted from a cigarette held between his lips.

I chanced a look around the room and noticed faint blue walls, a pile of laundry, and a calendar with the passing days marked by X's.

It was so surreal… Like a scene from a dream.

I finally had the chance to apologize. To take the beating I deserved and atone for my sins. I opened my mouth and began to rasp out the first words to my abandoned friend in years.

"I'm sorry."

Matt turned faster than I had ever seen him move in youth and looked down at me. A faint smile played across his tired eyes.

"Well, good morning."

I groaned and waited for him to rip me a new one. I waited for the guilt trip, the tears, and the anger.

No such a thing came. Only that weak smile.

"Did you hear me?"

The smile widened, threatening to push the cigarette from its perch.

"I heard something, but I think it was just the TV. The shows they have these days… Only Hollywood could come up with something so ridiculous."

"I said I was sorry," I repeated a little angrily.

"Yeah," Matt continued as if he heard nothing at all. "That guy there," he pointed at the screen, "he's trying to convince himself that he did something wrong. What a load. What bad writing. All he ever did was take the road that suited him. They'd better make up for this trash next season."

I looked up at the screen.

All that was playing was a commercial for laundry detergent.

_Experiencing grace is a lot like experiencing a terrible burn. It hurts as it tears through your outer flesh, revealing the sum of what lies inside you. You may look down at the blood and sinew only to turn away in disgust. You may want to be punished for harboring such detestable qualities, but the only punishment is the burn itself. To the one granting you mercy, even your tainted blood holds a measure of beauty. _

_When you agree to accept their perception of you and leave guilt behind, you find that the most magnificent works of art are painted not with pigment and turpentine, but with the very liquid that has flowed through your veins the entire time._

**Author's Note: Matt! I may have rushed into his return, and the time warp may be a huge cop-out, but I'm glad he's back. Thank you for reading! The next chapter is on its way.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: My thanks to everyone once again for their willingness to keep reading and reviewing. I'm starting to worry about a lot of technical things in this story like odd tense discrepancies and wording blunders, but I'm gonna hold off on criticizing it as a whole until it's complete. Another short chapter this time. Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note **_**or any of the characters used in this story. Well, I guess I technically own Cheryl, but she doesn't count.**

___Peace sounds like a worthy ambition. When someone says they long for world peace, the appropriate reaction is to smile and tell them they are a caring, progressive individual. Too bad those very words may come back to haunt you when half the world's name is written in a notebook. _

_No, peace on any kind of global scale is a fantasy, the wishful dream of those who have no idea what humans are actually made of. _

_Individual peace though? That _**is **_a worthy ambition. _

_It's a shame that it is often more difficult to find contentment than it is to gather the entire population together to light candles. _

_The life Matt had been leading was a simple, boring affair. He had a job, an apartment, and a car. To the untrained eye it might have seemed commonplace, but they did not know the circumstances. For a person with beginnings as tragic as our own, the achievement of any kind of normalcy was incredible._

_While I had descended further and further into the pit of chaos, he had risen above the unfortunate hand life had dealt him to find a proper place in the world. _

I bit my tongue to stop from screaming as the pain of my burns threatened to overwhelm me.

"Hey. Hey, Mello. Over here."

My eyes struggled over to Matt, who was once again seated at the foot of the bed.

"Check this out."

He tried to direct my attention to the video game now flickering across his television screen.

I thought I recognized the character in the game, but they looked so different now. Their blocky pixels had been traded for flawless three dimensional polygons and the blips and bleeps that once accentuated their actions were now swells of orchestral harmony.

I moaned like a zombie, unable to contain my agony any longer.

"You're gonna miss the boss fight…"

I knew he was trying his hardest to distract me from the pain, but he was failing miserably.

With an inhuman roar, I slammed my fist down onto the mattress.

Matt looked on with horror and pity.

"Hang on, man… Cheryl'll be here soon."

Time had no meaning and I cannot say how long it was before a knock came on his door. When it finally did, he admitted a woman dressed in pale scrubs. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and had hair far too perfect for her occupation.

"Hey, Cher," Matt said sheepishly. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Jeevas."

"No. I know how far you're sticking your neck out for me. Really. Thank you."

"Hey, if it weren't for your help with last year's database disaster, I'd have lost my job. At least if I lose it now, it'll be for a good reason."

I howled again.

"That must be your buddy."

"Yeah…"

The woman pulled a needle from her bag and approached me.

"Take it easy, hon. I'm gonna knock you out for a bit while I take care of those wounds, okay?"

A quick pinprick and the room swam before fading altogether.

The following days would find Matt and his nurse acquaintance taking turns caring for me until I was healed enough to move about on my own. Well, I shouldn't say 'on my own'. I never could have done it without the painkillers.

The days turned to weeks and I got a taste of the life I knew I was never destined to lead. Matt showed me his favorite supermarket where they had frozen dinners for half the price of other stores. He showed me the gas station where he had once accidentally dropped his car keys in the restroom toilet.

He showed me the bland, triumphant peace he had attained.

I was jealous. It was almost enough to make me curse the personality I had been born with. Matt found pride and happiness in what he did, while I still battled my feelings of discontent with every dangerous move. The way I viewed the world was so different from him…

_It was almost as if I was looking through someone else's eyes._

Those were the happiest weeks of my life.

Unfortunately they came to an end when I was well enough to resume my anarchistic striving.

Matt knew what was coming. He knew I was going to leave him again, and the pre-emptive strike he made against such repeat abandonment was the only insight he would ever give into just how much I had hurt him years ago.

One morning I emerged from the bedroom to find him on the couch that had become his bed talking on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for such short notice," he said into the receiver. "The terms of my new contract required me to start immediately. I wanna thank you for everything, though. You really helped me get my feet off the ground."

He nodded in response to something the voice on the other end said.

"Yep. Yep. Will do. You were a great boss too. I'm sure you'll have no problem filling my position."

He hung up the phone.

"You got a new job?" I asked.

With a startled jump, he turned to face me.

"Oh, hey Mello. I didn't know you were up yet."

I pulled my scarred face into an insisting expression, pressing him for an answer to my question.

"Well, um, about that… Not exactly."

"Then why did you just quit?"

He shrugged with feigned indifference and smiled at me.

"I found something better to do with my time."

_Peace is a valuable thing. One of the most valuable things one can ever hope to obtain. But just like there are rubies and emeralds and sapphires, there are other things that hold equal, but different value. Some people would choose a ruby over a sapphire. It's all a matter of priorities and preference. _

_Matt was willing to throw out everything he had worked for to follow me into chaos. He would exchange his honest livelihood for the one of tension and guilt I wished I could leave behind._

_That level of crazy selflessness certainly cemented him on the side of irrationality that B and I occupied._

_Stupid, blind, unfortunate Near._

_Our team had lunatic determination. It had passion and sentimentality. And now it had unwavering devotion. _

_All Near had was the silence of a million empty answers stacked neatly atop each other. _

**Author's Note: Well, I'm sorry to say it, but we are nearing the end. Next chapter soon. Thank you for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: We made it. We have finally reached the end of this story. It's been fun, guys. Thank you so, so, so much for sticking with me. Your reviews and just the knowledge that somebody is interested in something I wrote mean a great deal to me. This is the shortest chapter yet, but I think it needed to be. There is also a POV switch that I believed to be necessary. Please enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Death Note **_**or any of the characters used in this story. I also do not own the Nintendo DS.**

_It's funny how people like to relate the birth of opportunities to the opening and closing of doors. Doors are interesting things, both symbolically and literally, they---_

"Mello!" Matt's voice called from beyond the door where the blonde-haired man sat writing at a desk. "What're you doing in there?"

"Writing," Mello called back.

"Again? That's all you've been doing for the past three days!"

"Yeah, so? I wanna get my thoughts out."

"Do it later! You've got a phonecall!"

Mello put down his pen and stepped out into the living room of the Japanese apartment where Matt stood holding a telephone.

"It's some lady. Probably that one who's working with Near. I bet she has more info for you."

The two men sat down on opposite chairs as Mello grabbed the phone.

The conversation was long and difficult to follow for Matt, who could only hear one end of it, so he flipped on his DS and waited for it to end.

When it finally did, he barely even realized it.

Mello had fallen into silence and hung his head over his knees rather than yelling excitedly as he usually did after talking to Near's accomplice. Matt peeked at Mello over the screen of his game, trying to decide if he should let his friend know that he noticed his odd behavior.

"Is e--"

"I'll be in my room."

Matt blinked from behind his goggles, but said nothing as his friend drifted away to his previous location.

Mello reseated himself at his desk and looked down at the filled sheets of papers before him, flinching when a tearstain suddenly appeared on the closest one. He raised two fingers to his eye and examined the ocular moisture he had created, knowing that this ink-smearing rain probably wouldn't cease for the duration of his writing session.

_It's over. _

_I have made my final decision._

_There is no flowery language or metaphor that I can put here. I'm dying tomorrow._

_Simple as that._

_Near has some kind of plan, but he needs more information._

_Halle knows there's no way for him to obtain it._

_So, I'll get it for him._

_I will trade my life for a snippet of cold fact._

_Stupid Near will be left to wonder why. He'll never be able to process the idea of me sacrificing myself for his gain. It won't make sense. It will drive him mad. _

_It will be a mystery he can never solve. _

_And logic will finally bow before passion._

_I win, Near. If I could choke back my tears long enough, I'd sing it from the rooftop. I. Fucking. Win. _

_Poor Matt._

_He'll be alone again, and this time there will be no chance of a reunion._

_If you find these papers, Matt, know that I'm sorry. You always knew I was a selfish asshole out to prove an obscure cause to the world. _

_Well, I did it._

_Please be happy to know that I have found my final victory, and try to carry on._

_You're strong, Matt. Much stronger than me. You'll make it. You've got to. _

_You're the only one I trust to carry on my memory. And probably the only person who would want to._

_Remember those late-night conversations we would have as kids? Talking about life and death? The future and the past? Well, I'm gonna find out the answers tomorrow. Although I think the questions were a lot more fun._

_Pray for me, Matt._

_And whatever you do… please do not put these papers in a suitcase. _

Mello marked the period of his last sentence and wiped his eyes. The only thing left to do was tell Matt of the kidnapping plan brewing in his mind. Of course he wouldn't expose the sacrificial details.

Stuffing the papers into a drawer, he went to the bathroom sink and washed his face.

And a few hours later, on January 26, 2010, weeping for his friend's unexpected death in a stolen truck, Mihael Keehl died of a mysterious heart attack.

**Author's Note: Thank you all again. Just for clarification: I did not intend the relationship between Mello and Matt to be romantic in any way (although I guess one could take it that way). I see them as extremely close friends, practically brothers. That is all. I must now finish eating my bittersweet celebratory chocolate bar that I bought just for this occasion ('cause I'm a loser like that) and try to figure out what to do with my spare time now that this is over. I would like to write more fanfics, and I do have some half-baked ideas in the oven. I've just gotta develop them more. Once again, I cannot say thank you enough. Farewell for now!**


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